


Agent 52

by Livvy_london



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Peter Parker, Blood and Injury, Gen, Hydra (Marvel), Hydra Peter Parker, M for Murder, Mild Language, Minor Original Character(s), Not Canon Compliant, Not Spider-Man: Homecoming Compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Violence, don’t mind them, my favourite tag, spoilers in the tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2020-10-12 14:17:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20565752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livvy_london/pseuds/Livvy_london
Summary: For Agent 52, servitude to Hydra is all he knows.But a seemingly routine mission to Manhattan, New York might just change all that, starting with a name - Peter Parker.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First work in the fandom whoop woop  
I’m aiming for the long haul on this one - if something doesn’t make sense straight away please still stick around.  
There’s stuff later on that I’m really excited to write but I gotta have patience, gotta have patience...

A lone individual crouched in the doorway of the helicopter that hovered high above the northern region of the sprawling city of London, England. Wind from the rotors swept air wildly around his head so that his brown hair flicked irritatingly into his eyes.  
One hand shielding his face, he flipped on the radio at his belt and brought it up to his mouth.

"Agent 52 reporting in. Currently over the drop zone and ready to proceed with mission. Over."

"Copy Agent 52. Pick-up remains unchanged, proceed with the mission. Hail Hydra."

"Copy Director Karen. Hail Hydra." 

The agent flicked the radio off, turning the dials to zero for extra measure, and zipped it back into its pouch.

One hand on the support bar and feet on the edge of the doorway, the agent leaned out over the city far below. Slender fingers let go of the beam and his body tipped out, slicing through the air. Almost immediately, he spread his arms out to slow his fall, and a beat later, flipped himself in the air to face back towards the dark sky. Sharp eyes picked out the cloaked helicopter, above and forward slightly. 

In the strong air currents, the agent lifted his right arm and pressed the gadget at his wrist. A click, barely audible in the wind, sounded and the device fired a thin white rope explosively towards the aircraft. It collided with a thunk on the metal and stuck fast.

With another click, the device locked into place, turning the agent’s fall into a wide swing, in an arc that took him close to the rooftops. Another press released the string and 52 rolled to a stop on a nondescript shop roof.

From his vantage point, 52 scanned the nearby skyline, orienting himself with the city skyline in the south.

Facing north-west, 52 picked out the tell-tale break in buildings that indicated a river or canal and evidently the water-side docks he was targeting that would be nearby.

As he dashed across rooftops and leapt between buildings, he kept to the shadows to avoid the fairly-drunk party-goers still loitering even in the early hours of the morning. At the canal, he fired the string and swung across to the other side, almost touching the murky water he did.

He skidded to a halt on top of a grand warehouse with slanted sky-lights imbedded into the rooftop. He crouched in front of the nearest window.

Hands flat on the grimy glass panes, he brought his arms up and the window creaked open on rusted hinges. 52 slipped through the opening, pausing on a ceiling beam below as he snapped the sky-light closed, effectively cutting off the incoming autumn chill.

Plain concrete walls stretched across the span of the warehouse, like a maze. They formed simple rooms stuffed with dusty equipment and rusted filing cabinets, but each had no ceiling, so 52 could scan them as he ran passed overhead. In the largest room at the far end of the building, with stained windows to the outside that let in minimal streetlight, the agent could hear the faint sounds of movement. He slowed his footsteps until they were silent and padded on the beam above the dark room.

Unlike others he had looked into, this one was almost bare and furnished like a crude office, with a chair-less desk and an ancient computer-monitor setup on top of it. To another side were more filing cabinets, though some were unlocked, with papers and stationary spilling out onto the hard floor.

A man 52 vaguely recognised was hunched over the desk, pen in hand, scribbling on a envelope, seemingly copying from the screen in front of him. The agent lowered himself with the synthetic string, landing soundlessly behind the other inhabitant of the room.

"Agent Tom Kuchensky." 52 stated as a way of greeting. Kuchensky scrabbled with the headset at his ear as he turned towards the young agent, envelope hastily brushed behind his back.

"Bloody hell, 52. I didn’t expect you to be here." Agent 52 only stood where he was, staring coolly at the mousy-haired agent at the desk. A slight sweat pricked up on the other man’s forehead,  
"I guess you are here for the info recon mission?" 

52 nodded.  
"Yes, mission designated Yankee alpha sierra spider."

"Sure, of course, me too."

There was a pause while 52 eyed the area, glancing at the envelope as he made a show of scanning the whole room.

"I had been informed the package would already be ready for pickup." 

Kuchensky shrugged almost nonchalantly,  
“If it is, I haven’t seen it yet. Maybe try the cabinets again? I’ve got this desk covered.”

52 nodded once and angled towards the other side of the room where the documents were scattered. 

Kuchensky watched him turn with a tight smile. For a single moment, he flicked his eyes back to the screen and the tabs that were open.

Even with the silencer, the gunshot still vibrated through 52’s forearm. A similar thump followed soon after, as Kuchensky slumped to the ground.

52 stepped forward quickly, scooping up the package that had been knocked onto the floor before the growing pool of blood could drench it. He returned the pistol to its holster on the back of his right hip. Facing the screen, he saw a few documents pulled up, the top most where Kuchensky had been trying to close some of the windows. 

There was an unexpected rasping behind him and 52 whirled back round to the man’s body. It was Kuchensky’s laboured breathing and the two locked eyes,

“52... “ The older agent smiled slightly as he scanned 52’s face, before it shifted into a small, almost confused frown, “You... all of you... didn’t deserve this.” Another heavy pause. “The microchip... Peter...”  
52 kept his wary attention on Kuchensky but, eyes glazed over, the dead man spoke no more.

Scribbled onto the front on the envelope was a barely legible address, somewhere in New York state it seemed, while on the back were a series of numbers and, in big bold capitals below, the word ‘PETER’.  
He shook the envelope gently, feeling the weight of something small and heavy at the bottom. He didn’t dare open it, no matter the lie he could have made up as to why the envelope was ripped.

He switched on the radio at his belt, hearing the slight static of the machine as spoke quietly into the set.

“Agent 52 reporting. Package obtained, ready for extraction.”

“Copy Agent. Helicopter transport ETA 4 minutes from your location.”

“Copy.”

52 paused a moment longer, envelope in hand, considering the dead man before him. Then he scaled the concrete wall, slipped up through the sky-light and waited on the rooftop as the sound of chopping helicopter blades drew swiftly closer.


	2. Chapter 2

“Sit Agent.”

52 silently took his chair opposite the director. Any less disciplined person would have slouched in the seat with the fatigue 52 was feeling.

The room, far unlike anything else in the bare facility, was furnished with a large desk, extensive shelving and even a small painting on the right that added an unusual splash of colour. Between this and the high concrete ceilings, the room dwarfed its two occupants. The director was an older woman, slightly weathered skin contrasting with her youthful freckles and bright red lipstick. Her no-nonsense hair-do pinned up all her dark hair into a tight bun and her thin eyes levelled an expectant gaze at the agent before her.

“I was able to collect the required package from the location at the Camden Locks,” 52 began. "However, Agent Kuchensky was unexpectedly present at the mission site. He stated that he was also involved with the extraction." He paused momentarily, scanning Karen’s neutral expression for any negative signs. "Although the mission had been to retrieve the data already downloaded from the unused computer, he had been opening sensitive documents. Due to this and his other behaviour, I decided the best course of action was to eliminate him." Karen shifted slightly and hummed at his conclusion. 52 would have swallowed if his mouth wasn’t so dry.

"And what behaviour was Agent Kuchensky displaying?”

"He showed signs of agitation in my presence, uncertainty in speech and ultimately, it appeared as though he were trying to conceal the package from me."

"I see. We will investigate the matter further." 52 fidgeted slightly under the Director’s gaze, as the pause stretched far longer than necessary.

“Now,” she continued, “I have new information for you. A field agent has recently compromised the safe house you have learnt in New York City. We have acquired a new building further east, out of Manhattan.” 52 nodded in acknowledgement. “We have also obtained locations in Istanbul and Munich. This brings the total number of safe houses to 14.”

Karen paused, and her eyes scanned over something on her computer monitor that 52 couldn’t see.

“Next, what to do if you have sustained a heavy bleed. I have instructed medical to run through the procedure with you tomorrow,” a small smirk crossed her face, “but for now all you need to know is to put pressure on the cut and contact any agent.” 52’s chest tightened slightly in apprehension, but he nodded in confirmation anyway.

“Finally, what to do when you lose contact with us in the field. If you’re going to take on larger missions you need to be more independent.” A slight thrill of excitement ran through the young agent. “You must complete any outstanding mission, then remain on standby for pickup. This should be at the original pickup point or at the nearest safe-house if the spot has been compromised. Only integrate into the community if absolutely necessary. We’ll do a practical test on this soon. Clear?”

She gave 52 a moment to absorb the information. From her desk drawer, she pulled out a thick deck of flashcards. Putting them on the table, the director gave the agent a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes,  
“Now, to train you on this session.”

Karen expertly cut the huge deck and pulled the top card off the lower half, the ‘safe houses’ card. She added the latest addresses to the back side in pen and set it aside. Following, she scribbled onto two new cards and shuffled each card on the table together efficiently.

"As usual, we will go through your cards until all the new ones have been reached.“  
52 tracked where Karen had shuffled the three new cards into the stack. One had ended up about a third of the way through and the other two near the bottom. This recall session would take a while. Not that the agent would ever complain.

“How can the latitude and longitude of your location in the northern hemisphere be found?“  
"Recount the steps of creating additional rope formula when in the field."  
“How can a sample of ricin be extracted from the castor bean plant?”  
She rattled off questions that 52 dutifully answered. And so it went on.

Finally, after nearly an hour, every card had been answered and the session was over. The director reshuffled the deck and tucked it back into its place.

“Perfect 52. Though I expected nothing less from you.” The agent nearly flushed under her meaningful gaze. “You will have physical training now. Do not take long, Agent Riseheart is waiting for you.” 

52 nodded in acknowledgement before leaving the director’s office.  
Only once out of the room and out of view, did the agent’s face fall minutely at the prospect of training even more, lengthening the already long time he had been awake.

It took only a five minute brisk walk to cross the compound and he was soon opening the door to his next activity.  
Riseheart stood in the center of the gymnasium, facing the carefully set out equipment with her back to the agent. At the sound of squeaking hinges, she turned to face him and he stepped inside.

“Ah, 52, you’re on time.” She greeted, then scrutinised him, probably spotted the beginnings of bags forming under his eyes. She shook her head. “You’ve hit a milestone today, and it’s the perfect time for a review of what you know, is it not?” She gestured to the equipment surrounding them. As expected, the agent didn’t reply.

“It’s been 10 years today since I began training you and you’ve probably made the most progress of all the numbered agents. But, do you remember the first thing I taught you?” Of course 52 remembered.

He remembered the first time he had been introduced to the tall lithe woman, her legs skinny but packing impossibly strong muscles beneath. If he was still not her height now, at his first meeting she had been a terrifying towering figure.

“We are to start your training with immediate affect. You will listen to me and me only. Is that clear, Agent 52?”

“Yes Agent Riseheart.”

“I am Ally Riseheart only, Riseheart if you must. I’m no agent - I am your trainer, and we are not on the same level.” She bit out, staring down her nose at the young agent. He stood immediately to greater attention.

“Of course, ma’am”. He barked out in reply and she exhaled sharply before turning her face away. If the edges of her mouth ticked up into a smile then, 52 never mentioned it.

“Dismissed, Watson.” The Hydra agent that had been directing the young boy nodded once and marched away. “Now 52, you probably already know you could be attacked at any time. You must be ready for combat to start any moment - keep your muscles prepared, breath steady and stance even or you’ll be too tense to dodge.” She scanned over the small child and his stiff posture.

“None of this with me,” Riseheart said as she gestured to the boy. “Let’s get you-“

“-warmed up?”  
Peter snapped back to the present. He nodded and she just waved one arm as a gesture to start.

Riseheart ran him through a battery of exercises, almost comprehensively covering everything he had learnt in what must have been the last decade. He vaulted over obstacles, leapt different distances and ran over bars far more times than he could count.

As 52 caught his breath at the end of course, Ally scanned him over and nodded approvingly.  
She tossed him a snack bar from her pocket, and he caught it deftly.  
Pulling off the wrapper, 52 bit into it, barely tasting it as he wolfed it down. As he finished, he was still acutely aware that the food had not calmed the uncomfortable feeling of hunger in his stomach in the slightest.

“Good work 52. It’s back to sparring tomorrow and you should be working with Davis again afterwards.”  
52 nodded once politely in affirmation, then left the gym.

“Должны ли вы заниматься со мной, сразу после того, как вы измотались Райзхартом? (Must they schedule lessons with me right after you’ve exhausted yourself with Agent Riseheart?)” The professor questioned as he spotted 52 stepping through his classroom door. The best the agent could offer was a slight shrug.  
“Мы говорим по русски сегодня? (Russian today?)” He asked in reply and professor Nelson shook his head.

“No, I’ve heard wind that you might be going on a mission within the next month, and so I thought Italian might be a good one to revise. Bene? (Ok?)”

After an extensive review of the grammar and an introduction to political vocabulary, Nelson pulled out a selection of worksheets for 52, and they both settled into their own writing.

The professor had always been a kindly man in the agent’s eyes. There was something about his appearance, with his slightly overgrown salt and pepper hair, and his willingness to go easy on the young agent whether he was woozy from blood loss or swollen from training, that put 52 at ease. How Nelson managed to keep his upbeat attitude out of the strict director’s gaze was a mystery to 52.

This deep in the facility, other than the door, the only path to the outside in the enclosed, windowless classroom was a vent that blew cold air across the both of them. 52 suppressed the urge to shiver as the slight moisture left from his training began to freeze on his skin. Professor Nelson, in his thick jacket, seemed unbothered by the chill, but the agent put in extra effort to make sure the shaking of his hands didn’t show in his writing.

He worked through a couple more pages, turning over to another essay, on the structure of organised crime, in Italian, of course.  
Sensing the familiar feeling of observing eyes, 52 finished his sentence and glanced up to the front of the room, catching the professor’s eye. Nelson sent him a small smile,

“Ci fermeremo ora. Vedo che sei stanco. (We’ll pack up there. I can tell you’re tired.)”

He must have read the unsure expression on 52’s face because he backtracked slightly, speaking in English to make himself clear,  
“No, don’t worry about finishing early, I won’t tell anyone. I’ll even resubmit some of your old work in your report if I have to.” Still wary, the agent passed over his small pile of worksheets. 

"Get some rest 52." He instructed, then his face gained a slight smirk. "Not without a shower first though." The agent stepped out of the cold room, closing the door behind him.

It was thankfully only a short walk through the facility to his own room. As the door clicked shut, there was the tell-tale thunk of the automatic lock snapping into place.

He swiped the slightly damp rag off its position on the sink and wiped down his face, neck and chest briefly. No sooner than he had put it back, did a tray with bowl get pushed through the small gap under the door. The unidentifiable meal was finished within the minute.  
He quickly washed out his mouth of the unpleasant taste, before he curled up under the sheet.


	3. Chapter 3

The opponent 52 faced was much like others he had faced recently. They had been putting him through a slew of similar sparring partners recently, all with extra limbs, eyes, rows of teeth or otherwise. But unlike his usual testing sessions, they hadn’t yet subjected him to the mutation himself. Any other mutation he had fought against so far eventually made its way into him, whether that was accelerated healing or hyper-flexibility. He’d fight whatever opponents they threw at him. Over and over. Then one day he’d wake up from the operating table with just the same as what they had.  
He was quietly dreading the day he’d wake up from that table with a mutation he truly hated. Extra limbs might be just that mutation.

Eyes critical, he stared down the other person. The two circled each other on the gym floor while Ally Riseheart watched the exchange from a point far out of the sparring square. Where 52 flexed his two arms in preparation, his opponent was cracking 6 sets of knuckles, 2 extra arms on each side.  
Underneath blonde hair hacked short and uneven, as though cut with a knife, were multiple thin dark eyes, high on her cheekbones, each watching him intensely.  
The other agent’s chest was covered only with a simple vest, ripped along each side to accommodate the additional limbs protruding from her rib cage. There was a fire-like hatred flashing through her eyes as she glared at him. 

She darted forward. 52, noticing her tense in preparation beforehand, saw the move and ducked out of the way of the blow. He sent a vicious uppercut in return, but one of her eyes must have seen it coming, as she flipped up and out of its way.  
They paused for a moment more, then leapt back at each other, delivering and dodging hits in a fast rhythm. Each of her punches was weaker on their own, but the sheer number of them put 52 on the defensive.

So distracted by her fists, he didn’t notice her high kick until it collided with his head. Knocked to the ground, he quickly recovered but his opponent was already there, pinning him with her body weight so he couldn’t jump back up.

He was twisted under the other agent so that his kicks only lashed out at open air. Two hands were clamped around his neck while the other four ripped through his clothes and into his skin.  
One hand reached up, from the crushing hold on his neck and dug long ragged fingernails into his eyes, blinding him. He thrashed once more, yanking at the hands gripping his head, while pain spiked across his chest.

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see -

52’s eyes shot open to take in the dreary space of his holding room. It had been just a memory, from months ago - he had not seen that opponent since and he had never received any genetic modifications of her kind, much to his quiet relief.  
Not a moment after he woke, there was a voice from the now open doorway.

“Rise and shine, Fiddy darling!”  
The agent sat up immediately, kicking his covers to the foot of the bed and standing to attention. If he hadn’t known any better, 52 would have glared at the other agent. The one who spoke leaned in the doorway with a toothy grin and a non-regulation pair of shades - Agent Michaels. He had a strong accent that turned his code-number from an elegant fifty-two to “fiddy-two” or Fiddy for short.

Michaels had rightly earned 52’s dislike, not just with the gruff nickname but his constant uncomfortable closeness. The one time he had retaliated to the older agent’s lack of personal space, Michaels had ended up with a broken nose, while 52 was disciplined, left half-drowned with broken ribs and bruised legs that hasn’t healed for days. He never tried again after that.

“Change of plan today. You’re flying out in an hour, so, hop to it.” He punctuated the end of his sentence with a clap. 52’s heart leapt into his throat at the unexpected order. What was going on now?

52 was briskly shepherded to the briefing room where the director already stood, alert and expectant. The instant she spotted the older agent she sent him a tight nod.

“Agent Michaels.” She spoke to said agent, who dipped a slight bow in acknowledgement and left the room. The director turned to 52.

“52, as I’m sure you would have heard from Michaels, there has been a change in today’s schedule. Reports from agents in the United States have told us that this base’s genetic advancements have been replicated by the company Alchemax, almost certainly through a leak of our information.

“We have two agents stationed within the company, at the headquarters in New York City.  
Agent Khele who made the report, states that our other agent, Qiu, was responsible for passing documents to their head of genetics.

“You must eliminate both Khele and Qiu as well as the head Diana Hale. Then you must corrupt their network and data so that our research does not spread to their other facilities. We expect you to do this without detection.” She scanned over 52’s face for any hesitation and smiled tightly when she didn’t find any. “You leave in 40 minutes. Suit up and be ready in the hangar.”

It was simple to slip into the black mission suit and secure the mask firmly onto his face.  
Take-off was similarly easy, and 52 sat in the simple seating area at the back of the plane, hands gripped into his trouser legs the whole flight.

Access to the inside was simple from his point on the top of Alchemax tower. Wide air vents offered circulation to the whole building, airing out the no-doubt harmful chemicals that the labs produced into the atmosphere. His mask would filter out most of the harm, but his sharp senses still led him to the lab where Qiu was stationed, following the sweet scent of cyanide that his briefing agent informed him she was scheduled to work with tonight. He was soon padding silently through the near-empty lab, stepping up behind its only occupant.

A vicious slash of his knife across the back of her neck was all it took to sever her spine and send her crumpling to the floor. Qiu’s glossy straight black her fell into disarray around her face. He ignored her wide shocked eyes staring into nothingness as he pushed her body under her metal work-table.

52 swiped Qiu’s keycard and office key as he left. Locking the lab’s door behind him, he made his way to the lower floors.

Keeping out of view of the remaining staff and the cameras, he darted through the corridors, reaching the department he knew Khele was stationed in. Using the keycard, he opened the lab doors and slipped his way into another corridor. It was simple to find Khele’s room, from the name tag “Aaron Khele” plastered on his office door. When he stepped in, the agent in the room turned to him with an unsure smile on his face.

“Agent 52? It’s a surprise to see you here.” Khele greeted, through with much more confusion than excitement. “I take it that the base has sent you to deal with Qiu?” 52 nodded firmly. 

“Qiu has been dealt with.” He confirmed and Khele smiled slightly,

“Now you’re here to check up on me. Unless... you’ve been ordered to deal with me too?” 52 took a step forward, hand on his knife. Khele quickly raised his hands in surrender,

“Wait! Wait!” 52 paused and Khele glanced at the bloodied blade in his raised hand. “Why have Hydra told you to kill me? I was the one who reported that Qiu had leaked the information. I can help you access the network to remove all the data if you need, and you can just lie to your boss that you've killed me "

"That... is only my secondary objective." 

52 brandished the knife again and darted forward.  
Khele tried to stop the blade with his hand, crying out as it sliced into his flesh. 52 drew back and slashed forcefully downwards. He twisted the knife as it cut through the target’s body. That single blow sent the other agent to the floor clutching his abdomen. He looked up blearily, then gave 52 a smile that grew into a grimace through the pain.

“Hydra was right to send you after me. Qiu did nothing wrong, at least not to them. I was the one who leaked the data. I just hated her... so much.”

“They roped me into this, this mission in the states while they cut treatment to my little girl at the base.” The dying agent paused, rubbing a hand on his face to wipe away the forming tears, but only smearing blood on his cheek in the process.

“She died. They told Qiu, then told her to keep it from me. To keep me loyal. She always did what they told her. Fuck hydra, fuck Qiu, fuck this. I want to see Amanda again.” The agent’s hands tugged at his own wounds, sending more blood gushing onto the carpet. Only a moment later, as 52 observed, Khele finally slumped to one side with a quiet sigh and closed eyes. He ignored the flash of a face in his vision, framed with silky dark hair, eyes wide open and staring. The unfamiliar unhappy feeling accompanying it was similarly pushed down.

He locked the office door from the inside and pulled himself into the vents in the ceiling, snapping the grate shut behind him.

He dropped down to a lower floor and into a narrower passage. He quickly navigated his way to the next target’s section, to a room filled with the only voices left in the rapidly emptying building. He caught the tail end of Diana’s conversation about the late hour and her tiredness as he crawled into position in the vents above.

The colleague Hale was speaking to, Sarah, bid her a brief goodbye as she did the same. The loud steps of Sarah’s high heels faded as she left the room.

The whole floor fell silent with only the taps of Hale’s keyboard. As she yawned once he dropped to the office floor, masked by her sound. Slipping out his now very sticky knife, he approached her from behind.

She must have spotted something in her screen as her body suddenly shot into alertness and she spun around, standing up as she did. Her punch swung wide and collided with his wrist, sending the blade flying out of his weakened grip. Quickly, he kicked her legs out from under her, and she fell backwards, knocking her head with a loud thunk on the desk and sending the chair rolling with a clatter. 

He quickly leapt on top of her body as she lay slightly stunned from the blow. He leant all his body weight onto the knee he was crushing into her throat. Her hands immediately flew up to her neck and he grasped them, leaning further forward onto her body to pin her hands above her head. They scrambled at his wrists and her eyes darted across his face frantically as he stared down at her. 

A few beats later her eyes rolled back. After another moment, 52 sat back onto his haunches, observing Hale for any sign of movement.

From the distance, far down the corridor, he faintly heard the deliberate clack of Sarah’s heels approaching. Facing the body but hearing focused on the distance, he listened intently for a moment as the colleague’s steps didn’t change pace or direction.

He briskly maneuvered Diana back into the chair, head facing away from the door and resting on her arms. The extensive bruises that were forming were hastily covered up by her long dark hair. 

He was leaping back into the ceiling and sliding the grate shut just as Sarah stopped outside the door. From his position overhead, he could see Sarah’s bottom half as she stepped back into Hale’s office.

“Ah dear, you really were tired weren’t you.” She tutted once as she set down the coffee near Diana’s keyboard. “I brought you the coffee you asked for, it should be a bit cooler when you wake up. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” Sarah paused and tutted once more endearingly, then left, clicking the door closed behind her.

Once again, 52 leapt down into the now-deserted room. After grabbing his knife from its place where it had thankfully remained unnoticed, he made his way to the computer at Diana’s desk.

He clasped a hand around the mug to move it out of the way and almost spilt it all as the hot coffee burnt his palm. Gingerly, he moved it with a little more care onto the other side of the body.  
[With any luck, Diana’s coffee would be very cool by the time the bodies are discovered.]

It was quick work ruining the network systems, and he was on the rooftop of the tower within 15 minutes

“Agent 52 reporting. Mission complete, heading to the extraction point.” He barked into his radio, then paused at the edge of the roof when he heard no reply. There was a slight warble of static but no confirmation of receipt.  
He changed the channel to another wavelength and delivered his message again. He blinked a little in confusion when even that received no answer, but only clipped the set back to his belt.

He left the business, now minus three employees, and leapt across the city with help from his synthetic ropes, slowing once he reached the part of the New York that was his pick-up point. He landed on the designated rooftop, unnoticed by the people milling about on the pavement below. It was still somewhat early in the night and queues of customers snaked outside the rows of restaurants at street-level. He observed for a moment, the people crowding around the warm lights and scents of hot food. 

Turning away, 52 dropped down to the fire escape at the side of the building, intensely watching the entrance of the alleyway below for his contact.  
As the voices of the foot-traffic faded away, the shine of the rising sun peeked into the alley and his pick-up time had long passed and gone, 52 watched and waited. He waited still as clouds grew overhead, the sky grew darker and rain soaked through his suit, chilling his body.

It slowly dawned on 52, as he crouched in the shadows, exhausted and expectant.

Hydra would not be coming.


	4. Chapter 4

52 had undoubtedly spent nearly 48 hours awake on the mission already.  
Curled up with tension under the stairs of that fire escape, the agent's eyes roamed the walls of the alley searching for any sign of the organisation he was so dependant on. His breathing was focused and steady as the teen tried to ignore the realisation that was settling into his chest.

Director Karen had briefed him on this situation just the day before his mission - two, possibly three, or even four days ago now - but he had never expected to use that knowledge so soon. The instructions on the flashcard crawled to the front of his mind - “Complete the mission. Remain on standby at the safe house. Only integrate if necessary.”

The information for the new location of the New York safe house was recalled too and 52 crawled his way out from the damp stairwell to the rooftops.

His journey to the safe house was sloppy, nearly missing his landing several times as he swung - one time almost plummeting into the murky water of the river as he passed beneath the bridge - but his adrenaline spiked enough to keep him alert and in the right direction.

It wasn’t long before the agent stood before the address he had been given. The door was unlocked and 52 was greeted with the sight of the safe house, bare and coated with a slight sheen of dust. Fatigue washed over him suddenly and he nearly stumbled as he stepped into the apartment.

He made his way through the main room and through a side door, towards a simple bed that was pushed up against one wall. The agent crashed into sleep without even a thought of anything else.

52 woke up to an unpleasant, uncomfortable feeling, crawling across his skin unlike anything before.

It was hot. It had been warm on missions before, a time when he got to leave the frozen environment of the base if only to kill a target or steal an artefact. On sunny afternoons, tracking his target disguised with a wig or mask, 52 would feel the chill in his bones fade into the warmth of the air around him. But this was hot. This was unbearable.

52 shed his sticky mission clothes, padding to the sink to wash out the stiff congealed blood, probably Khele’s, from the uniform. He’d be surprised if he didn’t have to wash blood and grime from the sheets later too.

Wringing out the shirt, he draped it over the table beside the other damp clothing. There was no ventilation in the safe house like that at the base. Opening the windows to let in the breeze only moved around hot air.

Even under-dressed and ignoring the muggy air swamping him, the uncomfortable feeling on his skin remained. He cast his eyes to the front door and the prospect of finding a cooler spot elsewhere. The order of “don’t integrate” only flashed through his mind once before he turned to search for something dry to wear.

The wardrobe he found was near-empty, with only two plain t-shirts, and an unbranded pair of sweatpants. He slipped on the simple fresh clothes. Reattaching his tactical belt over the top, he tucked in several of the dollar bills from the supply he found in the bedroom drawer.

Slicing through the breeze, out of view of the public, staved off the heat as he travelled quickly across the city. The dense cityscape suddenly cleared, to a view of a great expanse of greenery that launched the agent into free space. He dropped through the air, catching himself just as he passed through the trees, to settle safely on the ground.

52 recovered quickly from his speedy journey, but he felt the scratchiness of thirst growing in his throat as the heatwave descended on him again.

Drawn to the sound of voices, he made his way through Central Park until he reached an open plaza. It was filled with young people, flitting between the carnival rides and stalls that crowded the space. And directly before him stood a carousel, surrounded by wooden seating, with children and adult waiting in a queue that circled around the ride.  
A quick scan of the area didn’t reveal any drinking fountains or drink stands - the agent settled himself on a bench instead, that was slightly set back from the rush of the crowd, to observe.

A young teenager, hair swept back, approached the seat with a jaunty gait.  
He sat down with a sharp huff, slurping up the bright red drink he held in his hand. 52 eyed it curiously, along with the loose shorts and vest that the other teen wore. As he licked his drying lips absentmindedly, the agent noticed the boy glance towards him, a single eyebrow raised.

"My name’s Peter Sheppard. Yours?" The teen started conversationally. Staring at the drink, deep in thought, 52 muttered before he even realised a question had been asked,

"Peter..."

"Actually?" Peter Sheppard looked at him with a wide-eyed grin, when the agent finally turned his face. "What a coincidence man." 52 blinked slowly as the other teen sucked at his drink again until the harsh crackling that indicated it was finishing became obnoxiously loud. Sheppard shook it once, rattling the ice, and pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket.

"Peter number 2," he addressed 52 and pointed with one finger holding the cup, on a bearing the agent quickly oriented as 082 degrees. "They have discounted refills on these slushies about a block that way. The ‘Groovy Orange’. Have my cup and receipt and get yourself something - it’s so hot out and you really looked like you’d kill for my drink for a second there."

With a final laugh, Sheppard stood, brushing off imaginary dust. 

"See you around, Peter number 2!"  
And with a jaunty wave, he left 52 on the bench, along with the empty cup and the receipt tucked into it.

The young agent watched as Peter disappeared from view, then cast his eyes to the receipt beside him. One part of his mind thought back to the envelope he had collected with the name and address written on it. 52 almost chased down the teen but paused as he realised there would probably be thousands of Peters in the city the mysterious information could be about. He would never find out who - the director would never share the contents of a pick-up with him. Not previously and not ever.

Following the instruction Sheppard had given to him, he walked for 10 minutes past convenience stores and clothing shops that had their doors and windows wide open. He stopped before a store that had a sticker of an orange fruit slice with a smiling face plastered in its window. A similar colour scheme followed inside, a crisp grey and white theme highlighted with orange accents on each surface.

“Welcome to the Groovy Orange. How can I help you?” A spotty-faced young adult greeted him from behind the counter of the small shop.

“I would like a refill.” ‘Peter’ set down the clear cup on the counter and the cashier raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t remember you coming in today. You can only have same-day refills.” He explained, pointing at the notice advertising the deal Sheppard had mentioned.

“I have a receipt from today,” Peter replied putting the slip of paper on the counter. The sceptical expression remained on the young man’s face. He looked over ‘Peter’s’ slightly bedraggled form and sighed sympathetically.

“Ok...” the cashier paused as he checked the receipt for confirmation, noticing the name on it. “...Peter. You can have a discount. That will be 3 dollars.“ He gave ‘Peter’ an expectant look and 52 handed over the change from his pocket. The other man tucked it into the register and swiped the empty cup from the counter, turning away to mix up another portion. 

A moment passed before he turned back to 52, the red drink Sheppard had had, now filling the previously empty cup. It was cool to the touch and condensation pooled under his palm. He nodded once and left the shop.

The first sip he took of the ice-cold, sickly-sweet drink sent a sharp buzz of energy from his mouth and down his spine.  
He downed the rest of the strange red liquid quickly and felt the rush of energy as well as the tinges of nausea bubbling up from the unfamiliar chemicals. 

The strange sensation of feeling full washed over Peter for a satisfying few minutes, but it was only a short walk that recovered him from his meal and pulled his appetite back from where it had been momentarily suppressed.

It wasn’t uncommon for 52 to feel the uncomfortable claw of hunger scratching at his abdomen, like an animal that chewed up his insides.

Hydra had never fed him much, never saw the need to, and when his metabolism rocketed upwards after his mutations he didn’t dare ask for more meals.  
He feared now what would happen if he ever mentioned it to his handlers.

But as his keen nose picked out a cool, sweet scent, not unlike the drink he had just finished, he found himself following its path through the heavy air of the afternoon. As he fingered the remaining notes in his pocket, the hungry animal that burned through his meals roared up and he sped up steadily until he stopped before a small café.

Stepping inside, the scent grew exponentially stronger.  
At the counter, he mindlessly picked out items from the menu, barely understanding the names and what they really were. The similarly mindless cashier didn’t question his choices, merely passing back his change and a numbered block, that she briefly explained should be put on his table for service.  
In the nearly full café, 52 zoned in on a seat in the corner near the entrance. He set down his number marker on what was left of the table after the chunky laptop and coffee cup of the man opposite him had taken all the space. It struck 52 that this was likely the reason why this chair had remained empty, despite the apparent popularity of the store. His back was facing the door too, which was contrary to his training and so less than ideal. But he seated himself anyway, beginning to scan the person that was seated across from him. 

Grey strands peeked through dark brown in his hair but there were only wrinkles around his mouth, reminding him of the cheery Professor Nelson and in stark contrast to the heavy frown lines of the other members of Hydra.  
On the table was a slip of paper headed by the title ‘Shopping list - Ben’. The name tag suspended from his neck reading ‘Mr B. Parker’, and the name scrawled on the top of the note, completed the sketchy picture of the man in Peter’s mind.

He had been integrated into a Hydra mission once, posing as the son of two diplomats. They were Hydra agents of course, and 52 was tagged along while the visited the president of Venezuela. As they met with the officials, he had been allowed to roam, and he had copied over the secretive documents Hydra needed without any suspicion cast on him. His cover name had been ‘Andrew Parkman’.  
The name ‘Peter Parker’ didn’t seem very different. To 52, it was almost... appealing.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts. Suddenly, he froze, recognising the familiar touch.

“Hey Fiddy, it’s nice to see your pretty face again.” Non-regulation shades, thick accent and of course, the unflattering nickname. He could hear the cocky smile in Agent Michaels’ voice, but there was a hint of a sneer hidden there too. 

As Peter turned to face him, he saw the man, ‘Ben’, glance up briefly to look at the newcomer too. It seemed Michaels noticed this as well, because he leaned in closer, rubbing his hand on 52’s shoulder.

“Come on, let’s have a minute outside.”

With a brief glance back through the café window, 52 caught the confused looks of Ben and the waitress, as they fumbled around all the food suddenly arriving in Peter’s previous seat.

He didn’t get to watch or soak in the scents of fresh food for much longer - Michaels’ hand, low on his back, steered Peter Parker away.


	5. Chapter 5

The director and 52 sat opposite each other once again in Karen's grand office. In the silence, 52 could hear the footsteps even several floors above.

"The debrief, agent?" Karen's voice cut through the agent’s muddled thoughts. He looked up, straightening his back.

"I corrupted the files in the database. Alchemax headquarters will no longer be able to access the data. I have also eliminated Agent Khele, Agent Qiu and Diana Hale as requested." Karen picked up on his distracted speech.

"52, your time without Hydra contact was merely a simulated test. I did say that I would do a practical test of what you learned soon, didn’t I? And it seems you responded relatively well." She told him, a small smirk on her face. Peter nodded once but pursed his lips slightly.

"I understand that Director."

“And so, how was your time away from Hydra?”

"It was... uncomfortable," 52 responded. “I am better prepared in case it happens again.” The director nodded with a small smile, and Peter sensed he had given her a correct answer. The tension in his chest eased slightly and a pleased smile almost made its way onto his face.

“Director,” he began quietly, catching Karen’s attention. “During the mission, agent Khele revealed to me that it was him, rather than agent Qiu, who was responsible for leaking the research.” Karen gave 52’s statement a dismissive wave.

“Qiu’s loss can be managed. We already had plans in place when we assigned your mission. Hydra doesn’t need agents within Alchemax any more.”

In the following pause, the director checked her computer monitor once, nodded to herself and turned back to the agent opposite her.

“The information you collected in Camden Locks has proven very useful, 52. It has come to our attention that Agent Nelson was mentioned several times in the documents, in particularly traitorous ways.

“As his primary student, I would like you to be the one who disposes of him.”

She ended her order with a slight smirk. Smile lines and greying hair flashed in Peter’s vision.

“Of course Director.”

“Do it now, 52. You will see Agent Riseheart afterwards.”

“I understand.”

The young agent nodded, turned and stiffly marched to the exit. Karen’s voice stopped him abruptly at the door,

“Hail Hydra, Agent 52.” She gave him a meaningful glance.

“Hail Hydra, Director Karen.” He replied.

“It’s a little early for your lesson, isn’t it 52?” Nelson greeted cheerily when Peter entered his room.

“My gym session was postponed.” The agent replied. One of the first frowns he had ever seen on the Professor’s face appeared then, 

“Alright,” He paused, considering. “We can continue with what I had planned.”

The plan consisted of Russian conversation exercises and one of the professor’s favourite activities, poetry analysis. Despite this, Nelson’s unsure expression persisted as the lesson went on. It remained even as Peter collected the essay prompts on Aleksandr Pushkin from Nelson’s desk and took his seat again.

“I know what you’re here to do 52.” The professor said suddenly. Peter lifted his eyes to meet Nelson’s. 

“Come over here.” He said, gesturing for the agent to step up to his desk. Peter did so, slowly. His fingers strayed to the gun on his hip, but Nelson took his hand gently.

“What do you remember 52? Think back as far as you can.”

“I can remember meeting the director for the first time. And Riseheart and Sergeant Davis too. And meeting you. You gave me something sweet in my first lesson with you.”

"Yes, I had a bit of chocolate in my pocket. I wasn’t expecting to give it away so quickly when I brought it." Nelson chuckled quietly. "What about memories before that?" 52 thought for a moment.

“I’m not sure.” His face scrunched up slightly in confusion. Nelson remained quiet, expectant.

“I think there were people all around me, screaming... I couldn’t see very well, but it was bright and too loud. And something big and noisy was coming towards me. I felt...“ Peter paused frowning.

“But someone said something and suddenly someone was holding me and then someone was shouting..._ for me _.

“I don’t know what it all means. Why are you asking me this?” His eyes focused back on the professor who replied,

“You have to find out why on your own. And I’m confident you _ will _ find out.” Peter’s eyes drifted down and Nelson smiled, satisfied for some reason completely unknown to Peter.

“It’s ok, юношка (young man),” He patted Peter’s hand. “This was always going to happen.”

52 nodded once and pulled the pistol out of its holster. Nelson’s eyes widened slightly but he remained silent.

The agent pointed the gun at the professor’s forehead and looked away as he pulled the trigger. 

He ignored the fading warmth under his hands as he hauled his teacher’s body to the disposal room.

In the following training, Ally ran him through some dodges and counter-blows. She, surprisingly, didn’t comment when his face earned a few more bruises than usual.

It was difficult to process time in the facility. As the events of the New York mission faded into the past, it once again became tedious to try and track the date or season. Especially as the air conditions and lighting of the facility was near-constant year-round.

The only indication of a day’s passing would be waking from his sleep, filled with visions of a heavy knee crushing his throat while his hands were pinned overhead, to the voice of his handler unlocking his door.

One time he did wake differently, from the operating table, with no idea of how long he had been under. Hydra’s doctors leaned over and a prickling feeling flared with each touch of their fingers on him. 

One scientist, brandishing a scalpel near his chest, explained that his new mutation would let him detect oncoming danger. He tested it by slicing a long thin line across his chest, only stopping when 52 managed to hiss through the pain that the mutation was very definitely working.

Another doctor, female this time though he could barely tell behind the mask and latex, pulled at his fingers, informing him that he should now also be able to stick completely to any material through his hands and feet.

His next gym sessions had gone over his dodging and counter-attack techniques again. As Ally’s fist swung forward over and over, his body couldn’t help but move out of its way. With barely a brush of his fingertips, he could grip her and flip her right onto the mat. The smile on the normally serious Riseheart’s face said it all. Peter almost couldn’t stop a grin from appearing in return.

An unnatural, overwhelming nervousness 52 had never felt before became the regular feeling whenever any agent approached. It flared up under touches (he half-expected the sense of danger from Michaels, but not from any other Hydra agent) and it kept him awake late at night, listening to distant footfalls in the dark. While it had proved useful to his work, he wondered whether the extra sense that had been given to him was the one mutation that would finally ruin his sanity.

“Agent 52.” He was back in the briefing room, Karen before him and Agent Michaels retreating behind. The start of all missions.

“We are having you return to the New York safe-house for another mission. This one is far more involved but I sense you are up to the task,” She began and Peter’s heart leapt up at the mention of the city. “You are to infiltrate the organisation by the name of Shield. They aim to disrupt our work here and must be stopped quickly.

“There are files on the identities of agents working for them within their databases. I want you to retrieve these lists and begin eliminating their members - we will tell you the priority targets.

“The designation is Lima Mike Alpha Oscar. You will be told more information in your final briefing.”

The familiar constant buzz across his skin spiked again as Karen took a step towards him,

“This mission starts tomorrow. You must be prepared for all possibilities 52.” 

Peter flexed his fingers. He was prepared.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for leaving this fic without an update for the last couple months. I’m really happy though, with all the comments and kudos I’ve gotten, so I give you a big thank you! I plan my chapters in batches so then next few should come soon.  
If you have anything you want to say to me, I’m happy to listen!

The closest nameable emotion that Peter was feeling riding back into New York City could be described as pleased. It wasn’t quite the feeling of receiving praise from Karen or his other handlers, but he felt the same lifting sensation in his chest as his motorbike rolled to a stop below his mission apartment.

Away from Hydra’s direct eye, a serene sense of peace washed over him as his seemingly overactive senses faded into quiet.

Agent 52 had a lot of prep to do to be ready for his mission.

Peter almost smirked at the name as he crouched out of sight. Aegis. It was almost perfect.  
He had staked out this location the night before, watched the comings and goings of Shield members from the building.

Aegis Bank was a low-rise building, but definitely not ancient. It sat in Astoria, just across the East river from Upper East Manhattan. The windows were tinted and discrete security cameras covered each wall, that turned to follow the passing pedestrians. A bank’s high security wouldn’t cast any suspicion to the public that this was actually a major Shield base.

Listening closely to the whirr of the cameras and sticking close to the shadows, 52 leapt onto the side wall of the bank, crawling up and into a window that was cracked slightly open.  
As the agent stood in the empty office, he was struck by how quiet the building was. The headquarters was bustling, hectic place while he was scouting, where every noise blended into one loud hum.  
But now he could pick out individual conversations on the floors below. Everyone was missing - this would be easier than he thought.

He made his way to the basement levels through a stairwell, following the chilly air downwards.  
Then branching off on one of the deepest floors.  
It led him right where he knew it would, the ice-cold server room.

There was only one guard keeping watch, periodically scanning his surroundings but otherwise occupied in shivering along one wall. It was child’s play to sneak past him, then just a matter of time to find an input point between the rows of server-banks.

The mask over his mouth would keep his face hidden if picked up by any cameras. The gloves on his hands kept his fingerprints off the machine.

The USB stick he pulled out of his pocket contained a sophisticated algorithm to sift through and download the data files within the Shield databases. Having plugged it in, Peter stayed alert while the program did its work on the database files, but the only noises were of the air conditioning and humming servos. Once the system had finished copying files, it let out a low pitched beep that startled 52 slightly - he heard the shuffle of the guard’s clothing that indicated he’d heard the unexpected noise too.

While the guard walked over, the agent pulled out the USB, then yanked himself to the ceiling with a string, shot from his wrist.  
Still clinging to the ceiling by his fingertips, he passed over the servers to reach the exit, catching the disappointed muttering of the guard as he pushed through the door.

52 traced back the path he entered, clearing his tracks as he went. Back in the deserted office he paused, listening for any sound of an alert being raised. Satisfied, he climbed to a few rooftops away and unclipped the radio from his belt.

"Agent 52 reporting." 

Static. 

"52 reporting, do you copy? Over."

Still, only static.

The apprehension felt in his last New York mission rose in his chest, but another emotion bubbled up behind. 

Excitement. 

52 pushed it down quickly. 

He reported his success to the empty line, keeping his voice level throughout.

Swiftly, 52 made his way back towards the safe house, following the path of the queens-bound trains as he bounded across rooftops out of view.

Entering the apartment, he stripped off his mission uniform, unclipping the metal mask that sat tight over his mouth. Peter slipped on the sweatpants that were once again hanging in the cupboard, grabbing the laptop from the false-bottom of the drawer as he returned to the kitchen.

He plugged in the memory stick, pulling up the files he had downloaded from the Shield servers.

The algorithm had searched and copied any mention of agent identities on the server and it didn’t disappoint. What 52 had to do though, was shift through the extensive list of files to pick out every name and location it had found.

The first dozen files bared the same name, an Aaron Parr, who had signed off each of his daily reports carelessly with his own name. It wasn’t hard to figure out from his detailed reports what role he played in Shield, and digging a little deeper, Peter found his name scattered across multiple complaint notes from the department he worked in. 

It took only one file more to bring up Aaron’s schedule and address.  
The agent nodded to himself - this was a man that wouldn’t be missed.

“Another report of a homicide in Upper Manhattan tonight, as a 29-year-old man was found dead in his apartment earlier today.  
“What’s interesting about this story is the lack of evidence left behind, that is leaving the NYPD looking for answers about the killer’s identity.  
“The deceased’s employer, Aegis Bank, has denied to comment.”


End file.
